


Open the Bootle

by MimBeech



Category: Black Books
Genre: Drunkenness, F/F, First Kiss, Friends making Friends Kiss in a Normal and Kind Way I Assure You, Injury, M/M, Mockery, Swearing, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimBeech/pseuds/MimBeech
Summary: Fran gets real with Bernard and Manny. Bernard and Manny get real with one another. [ Set at the end of Episode 5, Season 2. ]





	Open the Bootle

Fran swayed into the bookshop, a lit cigarette hanging tenuously to her lip. “Wahey! Go on! Give ‘im a kiss, go on!” She snatched a sandwich from Manny’s plate, as he stared in stunned silence.

“You’re pissed,” accused Bernard.

“I know” Fran responded, with a lascivious grin, snorting to herself. “Come on, open the bootle.”

When Bernard folded his arms at her, sighing in exasperation, she asked “What? What’re you looking at?” Sputtering indignantly, she shook her head, “I cracked didn’t I?”

She took another, more contemplative bite of Manny’s sandwich. “Eva was going on about how I had to give up milk and peas and God knows what – I mean, what wrong with fuckin’ peas?! So I-” She took a self-satisfied drag of her cigarette, “I told her she could stuff it up her chakras. And it worked! Now she’s not talking to me.”

Her story complete, she looked at Bernard once more, “Come on, open the bloody wine!” she hissed.

“Go on Manny, get a move on.” Bernard directed the man standing beside him, seemingly on autopilot from the shock (or was it schadenfreude) of seeing his old friend back on the booze.

“Please.” Manny finished his sentence for him, retrieving the bottle opener he always kept in his breast pocket. “It wouldn’t kill you to say please.”

“D’you know what I’m gonna do?” Bernard retorted acidly, “I’m gonna have you spayed.”

Fran giggled at this, a thought catching her fancy, “Go on Manny, resign… again! Go on.”

Both men looked affronted at Fran’s impertinence. Bernard turned to collect his coat, “I’ve had enough of this, I’m going out.”

“Yeah, go on, go on.” Fran trailed off, taking another deep drag of her cigarette. “I’ll mind the shop for you – I can be both of you.” She laughed raucously at her own hilarity. 

She cleared her throat, deepening her voice to resemble Manny’s London accent. “Bernard! It’s not fair! Bernard, here’s your tea! Oh Bernard, can I have my pocket money? Bernard why won’t you pay attention to me?”

She shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts, then dipped into a nasal Irish drawl, imitating Bernard, “Oh Manny! For the last time, shut up! Mother o’ God I tink I’m gonna kill ya!” Fran cackled at her own talent.

Bernard and Manny looked at her in horror. “We do NOT sound like that!” insisted Manny.

“Yeah!” agreed Bernard. “Not like that.” He suddenly felt very conscious of his thick accent.

Fran turned around in her chair, facing the two men and leaning forward. She grinned at them, her eyes only slightly glazy – she was, of course, rather a dab hand at drinking – “You do sound like that, oh yes you do!”

She belched once and slipped back into her Bernard voice, “Oh Manny, you’re such a hairy bastard. I tell everyone you’re the bane of my existence, then I stare at your arse every time you leave a room.” Fran then winked at Bernard, talking normally, “you didn’t think anyone’d notice did you, you pervert.”

Bernard was speechless, gobsmacked, he gulped noiselessly at Fran’s performance.

Fran barrelled on, not discouraged by her audience’s shocked silence, speaking once more the part of Manny, she moaned “Oh Bernard, you Irish lout, you treat me like dirt, but I’d do anything for you. I love you. I quit once a week but I can’t quit you. ” She was so pleased by her last turn of phrase she rocked with laughter, rolling off her chair and dropping her cigarette. Breathlessly, she patted the floor aimlessly searching for her lost cigarette and happened to smack her hand, palm down, on the still-burning butt. 

“Aargh, fuck!” She swore, appearing to sober up as the pain of the burn hit her (certainly impaired) nervous system. “Fuck! Fuck! Shiiiiiit!” She curled up on her knees, cradling her damaged hand.

Manny was the first to rush to Fran’s aid, “Fran, Fran, are you alright?” He quickly appraised the situation and dithered, “I should get some ice, just ah… just stay here, ah… ice! Yes! Ice!” He scampered off to the kitchen.

Bernard walked over to Fran’s side and knelt. He curled his lip and reached for her hand. He inspected the wound (only slightly roughly) and sucked in a breath. “Shit luck, Fran.” Certainly Bernard’s best attempt at commiseration in some time.

Fran, eyes watering, made a series of small noises, then looked Bernard in the eye. “Sorry, I… argh, fuck that hurts… I didn’t mean to make… uh, make fun…”

Bernard tsked, letting Fran take her hand back once more. “You haven’t been properly pissed like this in a while,” he said, with a slight hint of pride? Perhaps. Approval? Fran couldn’t be certain. “What happened to you? To Emma? I thought you were onto a good thing?”

Fran looked away, “Eva,” she corrected, sighing deprecatingly. “She wasn’t all that great, you know.” She beckoned with her head for Bernard to lean closer, “You know why I tried all that yoga mumbo-jumbo?” She smiled crookedly and giggled, “She ate pussy like a champion. Like one of her precious kale and _keen-wah_ salads.” 

“Well,” Bernard squinted at her, “you really must be pissed if you’re making jokes about getting head.”

Manny re-entered the room, holding a tea towel filled with what appeared to be frozen grapes. He spilled quite a number as he crossed to Fran’s other side and pressed the soggy package into her hands. “They’re all we’ve got I’m afraid, Bernard doesn’t like regular ice ‘cos it waters down his wine.”

Fran hissed as she pressed the cold parcel on her hand. She looked up into Manny’s worried features and smiled weakly, “Thanks.” Really, it wasn’t the worst burn she’d received. Not even that year, not after the radiator incident. Regaining a sense of humour, she picked up a grape from the grotty floor beside her and popped it in her mouth. 

Manny seemed horrified that she would eat anything off the bookshop floor, despite the fact he was responsible for washing it. 

Fran unlooped her legs from under her, loosening her long limbs in front of her and sitting with her back to the main desk. She sighed and closed her eyes, appearing truly tired for the first time that (rather manic) week. “Do you mean to tell me,” she said slowly and with care, “that neither of you has noticed the other checking him out? Neither of you have noticed how you treat one another? You’re like a fucking married couple!”

Bernard spluttered, beside her, half formed excuses tumbling out, “No I haven’t- I have never- Checking who out- What-” 

Manny was silent on Fran’s other side, very carefully examining a grape that had rolled by his left shoe. 

Ignoring Bernard’s pathetic excuses, Fran turned to Manny and directed as soberly as she could manage, “Sort him out, will you? I’m going to put my hand in a cold bath back home.” She stood up unsteadily, spilling a few more grapes as she made her way out of the store. At the doorway she turned back to face the two men, “Just sort yourselves the fuck out. You’d have to be blind to miss the way you depend on each other.” With one final, resounding belch she turned and left.

A silence, deep and uncomfortable, settled upon the store. Manny continued carefully examining the floor grape while Bernard sat beside him doing his best impression of a goldfish. 

After a number of minutes, Bernard turned stiffly to Manny and stuttered, “I- I- You- We-“

“Shut up, Bernard,” Manny held up one hand and looked him very carefully in the eye. Without another word, he slowly moved towards Bernard, shuffling awkwardly on his backside. Once close enough, he reached one hand – slowly, painfully slowly – to gently cup Bernard’s chin. When no resistance was encountered (in fact, Bernard had gone perfectly still), Manny leaned forward and planted a light and chaste kiss upon Bernard’s chapped lips.

“Oh.” Bernard blinked, his mind still catching up with this surprising turn of events. Gathering his wits and making a firm decision, he closed his eyes and surged once more into the kiss. Manny’s beard rasping on his face as he threaded his fingers through Manny’s feathery hair.

It certainly wasn’t the nicest kiss Manny had been involved in. Bernard tasted like a wine glass that had been left on a window sill for a week. Oh, yes, and a cigarette had been put out in it. Nonetheless, it felt good. It felt comfortable. And it felt real, astonishingly real. 

After a few minutes – and while first kisses are supposed to last an eternity, this really did feel like just a few minutes – the two men pulled apart. Manny cleared his throat, “Well, Fran’ll be pleased I suppose.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bernard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Uh…” he began.

“Yes?” asked Manny.

“Uh… do you think we could do that again.?” Bernard was surprisingly quiet.

Manny considered, twisting his mouth as he thought then came to a conclusion, “Yeah, alright Bernard.”

**Author's Note:**

> • In true black books style, I wrote the first draft of this story drunk.  
> • The first half of this fic is literally pulled from the episode ending, hope no one sues lol.  
> • Fran’s gay, and you can’t tell me otherwise.  
> • Con-crit would be gratefully appreciated :)


End file.
